


belonging/becoming

by SecretReyloTrash (BadOldWest)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Painstaking and Erotic Subtweet of Dropped TFA/TLJ Threads, Author Has Decided To Double Down On How Sad Rey’s Story Is, Dark!Rey, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Glove Kink, Gotta Love That Dark Side/Light Side Dichotomy, Grinding, Horror Elements, Is It Even Light Sider/Dark Sider Sex Without Copious Switching?, Kylo watches, Lesbian Sex, Light Group Sex, Light Rey Tops, Okay And Gets Involved a Little, Soft Ending, TROS Canon Divergent, Threesome-ish, Throne Room Scene But Make It Gay, Voyeurism, canonverse, doppleganger sex, saving what you love, thigh riding, unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22339558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/SecretReyloTrash
Summary: TROS Canon-Divergent. Throne Room Scene. Dark!Rey attempts to seduce Rey. Kylo finds them in the attempt.“You saw us on that throne together,” her double gloats, making dangerously possessive eyes up at Kylo, who remains silent and merely circles their duel from the edges of the throne room. “You’ll become me eventually.”She feeds her panic to Kylo through the Force. Nothing in his stance indicates he intends to intervene.Observant. Seemingly detached.
Relationships: Dark!Rey/Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 14
Kudos: 146





	belonging/becoming

Rey is spinning frantically out of orbit. 

Her center of gravity has been weighted with a second self as heavy and massive as a black hole. She feels, in seconds that pass like hours, that she will never be back safely on-kilter again: one mass will consume the other in space. 

She is at risk of being devoured and her entire physical reality is lost--so lost that she is knocked off-balance by her own self. Black clad, and fast, and elegant. Not quite the fighter she is now: a more refined self. A more detached one. One who has nothing to lose.

And one who is not terrified as Rey is. 

She’s scrambling like a frantic creature to escape, not to conquer like the form of herself clad in black does. The other dances her way across the dilapidated floor with a merciless blade. This self never scanned these broken walls for hunks of scrap to be sold for food. This one never had to.

She is knocked off balance by the red blade again, nearly forgetting there is another one coming as it orbits her skull, she jumps back. 

Too far.

Rey falls with a thud to the stone floor. 

There’s no time to catch her breath. Every strike is immediate and intended to be lethal.

The dual saberstaff pins her chest down. Rey wants to flail: but on either side of her, there’s a humming blade pressing her into the floor. Burns start to sear on the skin of her bare arm closest to the red light of a saber. The slightest movement of struggle from her limbs would lead to one of them getting hacked off. 

Who stands to win in a duel against herself? What happens if she loses?

The cloaked Sith Lady teasingly presses down on one side of the staff to dip closer to the floor, intensifying the burn with a sadistic smile.

Rey flinches back, but can’t move further.

_“You’re afraid.”_

Her smile is delicate, like all of her features, but there’s something in her eyes that prevents Rey from recognizing herself.

Family has been so evasive and empty in her life. So many faces she’d longed for, and some too terrifying to lend shape to in her mind. Yet her own face is the most frightening, not the face that did not judge her for her fear looking back at her on Ach’To, but a face that is her own and now mocks her. 

Her chest seizes under the pressure of the dual saberstaff. She feels like she’s going to crack at any moment. Her seduced self toys with her, tilting her head curiously, baring her teeth. 

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

The dual-staff locks with a heavy press of the force against Rey’s chest.

Hands ghost across her waist. Her own hands, busying themselves with slow strokes.

But not her hands, for her hands would never do this.

“I belong on that throne.”

Rey’s heart stutters in her corded throat: caught in a tangle of tense muscle and shuddering jugular. Her vision of the future with The Supreme Leader. 

Is this what Kylo Ren wanted?

Her hair is tousled, her eyes wild, but this other version of herself is placid and calm. This is no mirror. 

She loathes the look of herself this way, the self that is smoothing soft hands all over her body. Rey whimpers and flinches as those hands touch herself. 

Was _this_ what was the core of his obsession, did he have need from this cruelty, did her kindness ever matter to him?

_“Rey.”_

Her head snaps to the side, surprisingly free to swivel, considering her body was pinned like a collected insect on a board. A specimen.

Kylo is examining her like one as well, struggling, as he steps into the light of the broken viewport. He looks displeased. Perhaps because she is so easily defeated. His enemy, pinned by her own darker self. She had figured in the moment he’d be a bit smug that the dark would make her so much more powerful.

Rey whimpers as hands slide under her wraps and secure on the waistband of her pants.

A twin brow rests over her own. It is sickeningly gentle as it crowds her to the floor.

Her moment of silent communion with Kylo Ren is over. She is back facing her reflection in an empire of decay. Her place is in the line of succession there. She fights fruitlessly. She can’t breathe. Can’t swallow. Can’t take her eyes off her own emotionless face.

“You saw _us_ on that throne together,” her double gloats, making dangerously possessive eyes up at Kylo, who remains silent and merely circles their duel from the edges of the throne room. “You’ll become me eventually.”

She feeds her panic to Kylo through the Force. Nothing in his stance indicates he intends to intervene.

Observant. Seemingly detached.

Was he so easily swayed to the one who _would_ claim him: even if she was this vile monster? Was this what she deserved when she would not claim him as he was?

“B-Ben,” Rey calls out to him, which she never did when she was being tortured by Snoke. Her faith is shaken: staring herself in her cruelest face. 

He’s here, made himself honest enough to admit he wanted her, and there’s _two_ of her in this room. Yet Rey is utterly alone.

“You don’t have to fear me, and you aren’t alone.” The tone of her double is pure seduction, almost maternal, as her pants slide down her legs. “You’re with me. I’m your future. And we’ll always be together as I wait for you to run into my waiting arms.”

_The belonging you seek is ahead._

Those eyes that wait from up ahead are heavy and doomed. She shivers under their intense gaze. When she becomes this person, she will not exist anymore. Life doesn’t end through the force. But it can become something unrecognizable.

A cold hand cups her sex. Rey whines and bucks her hips into the touch. Horror writhes within her, as mean as a snake. She’s...shamelessly wet. Her sounds make it painfully obvious, as does the way she wriggles to feel a naughty friction up against herself. And even if this nightmare knows far too much about her, dooms her: Kylo hears it make her moan.

She turns to meet his eyes instead of avoiding them. She’s not less afraid. But her fear opens a void and lets him soak in her helplessness.

He closes his eyes for a moment. The only movement she sees is him taking a deep breath in.

“So many exciting changes to come,” her own voice promises from above, and Rey trembles and lets her neck arch against the stone as fingers work a mess out of her eager cunt. “Show him how it feels to work you open for when you’re together up there, someday.”

 _“Oh,”_ she lets out a sigh. Her body yields to these delicate hands. She cannot deny the truth that is her family. She stares her future in the face.

She belongs to this monster. And this monster is a match for him.

“Kylo Ren and I will rule this galaxy and you will exist ever in my memory.”

Fingers fill her. She’s felt these fingers, her own: and their presence in her sex is not unfamiliar to the mention of Kylo Ren. She’s being worked so effortlessly. 

_Ben,_ she wants to ask, _what is she doing to me?_

_What am I letting her do to me?_

Of course this monster knows everywhere to touch. Every little nuance of pace and intensity has her sprawled at the foot of the throne, near-begging for release.The dark force above her speaks again:

“But he will forget you like this. Pathetic. Weak. Needy. It’s in your best interest that he never makes an effort to remember you as a nobody.”

Something -some taut string of pressure inside her- _snaps._

The dual-saber goes flying across the throne room: it takes Rey a moment to notice the body above her has lifted away with it. The black robes billow with the force and the saber shuts like a fan. She lies, bare legs open, near-ruin, and doesn’t take a moment to feel sorry for herself before she sits up with a roar. 

She should arm herself. She should attack. 

Instead she leaps up and shoves her Sith twin onto her back on the cold floor. 

“I will not.”

The entire room, perhaps the entire castle, echoes with her bellowing voice.

The Sith sneers up at her. Kylo is silent. It’s heavy in this chamber.

He walks across the dias and picks something up. The dual saber. He toys with it in his hands. Examining the maker’s style with sharp interest. 

It seemed an inevitability to all in the room that Rey would build that weapon herself someday. 

Perhaps she’s disappointed him again in fighting her destiny.

Her muscles coil with her own brute strength. Honed, elegant arms attempt to shove up against her. They fail, at least because they try to make it look like they’re not scrabbling like a frightened animal under a Scavenger’s hold. 

Rey feels increasingly desperate pulses of the force. Not from herself, but a self that is now beneath her body. Attempting to summon the blade of that dual saber from Kylo’s hand.

He resists. His fist tight on the staff. The Sith Empress calls but he manages to fight her power. The weapon never leaves his hand.

His silence is answer enough. His eyes lock with Rey.

And her doubt vanishes.

Rey reaches down in a rage and grasps her own chest with greedy hands. Pressing her _hard_ into the floor.

The Dark version of herself laughs prettily into the touch. Rey doesn’t know what came over her. Fearful, she keeps her palms heavy on the chest beneath her, but doesn’t clutch as she did before.

“We are one and the same,” her double laughs: “do it.”

Rey lets out a growl of anger and presses her lips to her own.

Her belonging is ahead.

Her blood races in her veins: she is being kissed and she is kissing back. She initiated this kiss. All while Ben watches, holding a rejected weapon in his hand, while Rey fights her own future. Succumbs to it. Fights against with wrenching hands in long, unbound dark hair, thighs gripping against her own, moaning as the dark robes rub against her bare sex. 

This elegant creature had forgotten a life of hardship on Jakku: spoiled by Sith cultivation and luxury, and sheltered from hardship.

This person who looks back at her had thrived. Rey had never felt the sting of insignificance that she had been forced to fight to survive.

Rey dropped her hips roughly down on the smooth material cloaking that thigh.

Overcoming fear comes through dominating it. 

“That’s it,” Kylo hums in approval. It is the first time he has spoken since the two Reys had begun to caress each other. One with sinister gentleness, the other with righteous power. He addresses her. Rey Of Jakku. It’s a quiet sound but it vibrates through every atom in the room, pulling her up taut under his instruction and approval: “Show her the woman I love.”

Rey tenses her thighs around her doppleganger’s thigh and rocks her hips with a feral growl. She locks eyes with her bondmate. 

He nods in approval, so glowing and affectionate she wants to melt. Her back arches and her hands scramble at her clothes, stripping the white garments away to bare all of her body under his eyes. 

It feels good. Breathless. The ceiling drips with saltwater from the tide that maroons them on this wreckage. Her naked body shivers with pleasure at all the cold drops that spill across her breasts.

Her wet cunt adores the friction and his eyes on her. She’s going to cum from this. She’s going to cum for him.

The Sith beneath her also breathes as though labored, but seems less afraid of the pleasure coursing through them both. Rey leans back and pets her clit as she grinds, nodding across the dias at Kylo.

_Our throne...our throne...our throne…_

Hands caress her breasts. She barely flinches, accepting, when the horrifying vision begins to swirl her fingers around Rey’s nipples. She keens, tilting her head back even as she keeps her eyes on The Supreme Leader. 

He stares darkly at her. 

“You can’t get me to hate you,” she growls to both of her lovers, leaning over the woman whose thighs are knotted with her own and kisses her gently. Greedy hands grasp breasts, the swell of hips, the backs of thighs. They both moan in their tangle on the floor. Rey’s clit is wet and slippery as it rides against a strong thigh. She moves easily. Like it’s right. Like it’s meant to happen. She feels two legs greedily cling to her own. Detachment and acceptance floods her with an eerie calm. This is her body, but it isn’t. She can appreciate her litheness, the strength of her muscles, the ferocity of her passion. 

She tilts her head to look at him again and hopes he can too.

He creeps closer as Rey locks her thighs in orgasm and cries out to voice her bliss.

She will not be afraid. No matter what happens, if they absorb her into their purposes, she would not be afraid. 

Her hand lashes out and grasps the throat of her dark twin.

She expects Kylo to stop her.

He moves gracefully, she can feel him take his place behind where their bodies are locked, and his cape brushes her bare shoulder. She squeezes that throat with her bare hand. The force aids from under where her hand rests. But she doesn’t want the detachment. She looks herself and her fear in the eyes. 

His saber is out. Humming like a hive of panicked insects down the length of her naked body. 

He doesn’t stop her.

His blade tips threateningly to the Sith Empress’s brow. 

He’s held his blade on her like that before. When they met in the forest. While her double’s face merely glares at the saber posed threateningly to her temple, Rey has his curled protectively against her back, his sword held on her behalf, herself behind it as much as she is guarded by it.

“She is mine,” his tone is lethal, “ _just_ as she is.”

That cruel mistress laughs. The sound is like death. Her amusement is something that should not be fed: it is a mighty foe. Intimidating. 

Rey keeps her hand at that pale throat and tries not to squeeze.

The Supreme Leader floods her periphery, but not her focus. While his presence is fairly obvious at her side he still lets her keep her eyes on her aim.

“I’ve got you.”

Fingers weave in the hair at the nape of her neck. While not interfering, Rey feels the weight he teases out to hang down her shoulder. 

He unbinds her hair from the buns at the center and base of her skull. Her hair is half-down, like it was in a similar throne room, and he rests back on his heels with his saber threatening her opponent with calm contemplation now that she resembles something he recognizes.

She feels unrefined, wriggling against another body, muscles tight under his eyes. This was hard enough without witnesses. It would be painful with just anyone here. But someone who knows _everything_ about her makes her feel like she exposed down to the bone.

She takes a deep breath and chooses.

“You want to make me be like you. I’m not like you.”

And she feels him flinch at her shoulder until she bows forward to indicate she addresses the Sith Empress they had pinned to the floor. 

When she wants to bite: Rey delicately kisses the inside of her thigh. When she wants to scratch: she strokes her hand lovingly up and down her calf. 

“And if I try to fight your way,” Rey raises the skirts of those swirling back robes, the material as fine as smoke, and drapes it over the muscular belly tensing under her eyes, “You’ll win.”

Kylo lets out the softest exhalation when Rey bows her head and gently licks up the Sith Empress’s exposed sex. 

The only sound between the three of them aside from Kylo’s saber sparking and humming is Rey’s soft moan. Her double narrows her eyes and shifts her hips to rest with more openness against the stone.

Rey smiles up at her graciously and continues working gently caressing her with her mouth. 

A large gloved hand lands under her breasts, cradling her ribs as she leans forward on her knees and elbows. 

“Rey.”

His voice is so wrought and beautiful. 

If she can be kind to him, she can be kind to herself. No matter how lost.

Fearing them, even herself, will not let her win.

She lovingly places her lips at a place she discovered on her own body to the images of a lingering memory of Kylo Ren not too long ago. It’s her own body. It’s a correct assumption, thigh muscles rolling under her hands as the hips flinch up to meet her mouth, that it would be enjoyed by this phantom of herself. 

Kylo combs her loose hair off of her sweaty neck as she deepens the intensity of her tongue’s caress until a shriek fills their ears. His hand cups her nape, then travels down her spine, and then cups her hip, leather-sheathed thumb digging into the cheek of her bare ass. 

He only touches her, as if he’s only comfortable and familiar with his foe. Not the obvious ally in the room. It’s strange to have him cling to her when there is another Sith he can appeal to the darkness of to defeat the Jedi between them. Instead his assurance from her presence makes him come across as almost...shy. 

So he can stay behind her if he really likes. She can tell he’s watching intently either way.

But they won’t win. They won’t make her cruel.

Rey doesn’t stop the suction of her lips, plying a pulse of the soft and yielding flesh under her tongue. But she does send her shiver of approval to his hand so he keeps going.

That he does. Gently, carefully prying the lips of her sex open and coating his gloves with her slick. 

His touches are very careful and sensual. The fingers of his glove rub against her until the wetness of her skin and the leather are perfectly intermixed. Rey would not have thought that when he touches her, he would be any different to the Empress who stroked her to such a state of sinister bliss. She had feared her own body under his hands. 

His gloved finger sinks into her willing cunt and she purrs her approval and affection into that dark being’s sex. 

It is strange to see the composed creature become worked up this way. Combat clearly wouldn’t faze her in the slightest, but she’s writhing like a wounded animal just by Rey licking her as tenderly as possible. Gentling her with soft lips to such a sensitive place. 

The Dark Side would like to convince her that this was weakness or submission. But this was giving. This was tenderness, kindness, even, as she performs for her opponent. The hate inside The Dark Empress was overwhelming: Rey would not succeed in trying to take it. 

But giving herself, her labor, her gentleness…

Kylo strums thoughtfully against that spot between her legs, the same spot she is suckling on to make the Sith Lady moan. It felt like he gives her the same, or maybe even more directly as an act of subjugation that complements her control of the situation. He is not trying to manage her in this entanglement. Only to stimulate her too, expound upon that tenderness. Her cunt squeezes down on his thick finger like a second skin of his glove. 

Rey makes her double cum with her dutiful mouth for it seems the only way to keep the room from growing colder from the hate spiralling around them all. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Rey places a wet kiss on the Dark Empress’s clit as she cums, holding her legs open with firm hands.

She listens to her own voice gutturally claim her ecstasy. Not in words but in harsh and tempting cries. Muscular thighs overcome Rey’s hold on them and close tightly around her head. But not to hurt Rey. Hurting Rey takes away how good this feels. She hums at her core like an unstable kyber crystal. 

Kylo groans, watching the black-clad Rey writhe on the floor in pleasure. Rey faintly remembers this must be something he had wanted. To please this dark version of herself. Seeing her recieve pleasure now, dominated by Rey as he knows her, must be quite a conflict in his mind

She arches her back and presses herself insistently against his hand. She hears his swallow and gently piston his finger to caress the walls into her. His glove is soaked. 

Rey is called back to him, not the vision that taunted her. Her fear of it is not only conquered: but gone.

Rey’s chin nearly hits the floor when, in her pleasure, the dark form of herself vanishes into thin air. 

Mournful, She pulls back a little, crowding into Kylo’s bent chest. He folds her into that embrace effortlessly, breathing a sigh into her hair. His saber is still lit, but moved safely to the side, away from any limbs that could knock against it. But he lets it go when she and him are alone in this throne room.

“Finally,” he murmurs softly in her ear, “I get you all to myself.”

Rey can’t bring herself to answer, turning into him the nose at his throat as he fingers her gently. ONe would think that now that she isn’t distracted, and no one is pinned at ignited saber to hold still, he’d be his usually dominating self. But he’s only soft.

“Does it comfort you, to get a glimpse of your mate?”

He shakes his head, his lips fierce at the base of her neck. His lips give way to his teeth and they pierce insistently into her skin. Not hard, not enough to draw blood, but it’s an action that rejects her implications.

Rey’s arms shake under the weight of her body, still on her hands and knees, with him draped over her.

“She is not my mate. And the light in myself is too weak to bring balance with her dragging me into darkness.”

“Isn’t that,” Rey grinds her teeth as her pleasure spikes: he’s as sweet to her clit as Rey was to her double’s, maybe _sweeter,_ and her thighs quiver around his wrist. If she couldn’t hold herself up she’d only fall a few inches to the floor, but for some reason she doesn’t want that to happen, tenses up like she should not let herself. “What you wanted?”

“You,” he chastizes with his thumb moving so delicately through her wetness. “have I not made it clear that I want _you?”_

He arms don’t hold her up anymore: but she doesn’t fall. His hand under her breasts supports her so she doesn’t lip out from underneath his weight. When her body slumps into his hold, with just a defiant squirm of her hips against his hands, she falls apart. 

He’s not taking her. He’s giving her something. He’s being tender and gentle and kind. 

He lowers her down gently when she climaxes, this space so terrifyingly empty surrounding them. No distractions but how he is making her feel. Her hip digs into the stone floor hard enough to bruise. She just feels heavy. 

Kylo continues to stroke her as the orgasm shakes through her like thunder: he doesn’t lift his hand until she is finished, but he doesn’t keep it there for longer than it is welcome.

Acceptance. Tenderness. 

The bowl her over as well when they are offered to her. Is her response to it the Light inside herself, or the dark?

She lies there with her mind racing through that question as he moves to lie on the ground behind her.

He takes off his cape and drapes it over her shuddering shoulders. 

“Did she hurt you?”

Rey lets out a slow breath. She turns to face him, clutching the edges of the garment around her shaking body.

“Do you mean _did I hurt myself?”_

Her tone is surprisingly dry. While caught in the moment of her own feelings, it was easy to let him touch her. Easy to let him watch. It made her fear feel defined: either he would help her, or he would let all of this happen no matter how terrible, and Rey would carry her desires on her own.

She’s blanketed in his robe. But she pokes her bent legs out: first by the knee, then the shin, feet and thighs exposed to the cold air. There’s a sheen on her thighs she doesn’t want to hide from him. He bows his head until his black hair floods his features. Attempted to make them a mystery. 

The act of hiding is indication enough of a reaction.

“I’m fine,” she admits. It’s a tentative admission. Honesty often feels that way these days, with how often she has to dismiss her black thoughts to her surrounding friends. “What’s the use in fighting it?”

“The use?” 

His hand curves around her stomach, heaving where she’s still breathless.

She shakes her head:

“If it’s the future; I can’t prevent it by fearing it. If it’s what’s meant to be. And if it’s not, I have to respond…”

He almost looks amused.

“Like you did?”

Rey lets a laugh slip out of her mouth. 

“Yes, I guess I have to.”

“Rey, that’s why…”

He keeps his eyes on hers, both of them resting a heavy head to the floor. Curled towards each other. Vulnerable. 

“I know,” she tries to interrupt, shy of the magnitude of this confession, but he keeps going:

“That’s why I love you.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [neonheartbeat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat) for looking over this draft and making me not wuss out of getting Kylo/Glove Kink involved there. As I said, I don't know why I limit myself.


End file.
